


How to Win Friends and Influence People

by miss_begonia



Category: Graceland (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/F, F/M, First Time, Friends to Lovers, Friendship, Group Sex, Guns, Hand Jobs, Intrigue, M/M, Multi, Oral Sex, Orgy, Season/Series 01
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-23
Updated: 2015-07-23
Packaged: 2018-04-10 18:54:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,514
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4403327
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/miss_begonia/pseuds/miss_begonia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>If Mike’s learned anything from being an undercover who’s undercover among undercovers, it’s that you can make almost anything your thing under the right circumstances. It’s not like this will be the first new thing Mike’s tried at Graceland. <i>In for a penny, in for a pound</i>, his grandfather used to say, though Mike somehow doubts he meant for that saying to apply to situations like this one.</p>
            </blockquote>





	How to Win Friends and Influence People

**Author's Note:**

  * For [goshemily](https://archiveofourown.org/users/goshemily/gifts), [Overnighter](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Overnighter/gifts).



> This fic was written awhile ago and somehow I never posted it, so I'm sure it doesn't line up with current Graceland continuity. Enjoy this journey back to S1, when the show was still kind of good!

__

If you want to gather honey, don’t kick over the beehive.  
(Dale Carnegie)

 

When Mike was twelve, he got beat up by a couple of bullies in his seventh grade class who made fun of him for how good he was at remembering random facts. Mike’s always been a bit of a sponge. It’s his thing. Useful for spelling tests and trivia, not so useful for fitting in.

That afternoon he slunk home with bruises on his cheeks, his left eye swollen and red. His whole body felt like punishment. His grandfather saw him try to sneak up to his room and demanded he come into the kitchen, where he made him sit in a chair under the light while he examined the damage and pressed an icepack to his face.

“Who did this?” he asked, but Mike just shrugged.

“We’re going to make sure this doesn’t ever happen again,” his grandfather told him. “You’re going to learn how to defend yourself.”

The next day after school, Mike’s grandfather picked him up and drove him to the next town over. Mike was nervous but also kind of excited. He was sure he was finally going to get those karate lessons he’d been asking for. Maybe even jujitsu. You could do serious damage with jujitsu.

But then Mike’s grandfather pulled the car up to a nondescript building with a sign that read DANGER in big red letters. He took Mike by the arm and pulled him inside so fast Mike didn’t even get to read the rest.

His grandfather handed him a bulky pair of headphones and said, “We’ll start you off with no live ammunition. Safety first.”

Then he handed Mike a gun.

Mike knew he wasn’t telling him to bring a gun to school, to shoot the 13-year-old idiots who couldn’t handle how smart he was. But Mike’s grandfather didn’t do things by halves, didn’t care for subtlety, didn’t patronize or condescend. Mike had always been his _little man_ , his _sharp tack_. He knew Mike would get there, that he’d catch up.

He was saying: _Don’t ever let anybody keep you down._

“A gun wins every argument,” his grandfather said, and slapped him on the back.

Mike does like to win.

He’s pretty good with a gun now.

~*~

Seeing Paul Briggs sidle into that kitchen on his first day at Graceland feels like the first time Mike’s grandfather put a gun in his hand: dizzying, surprising, intimidating. Briggs is a big man with a big voice and a smoothness around his edges that’s both mesmerizing and terrifying. Before getting this assignment, Mike never imagined himself as an undercover. He can’t imagine Briggs as anything else.

But nothing Mike has been trained to do – was raised to do – has any effect on Briggs. He doesn’t care if Mike calls him sir or pays him compliments or demonstrates his extremely high level of motivation. These things would’ve made Mike popular in D.C., but here his attempts at building rapport are useless, ineffectual. Briggs just gives him that slow half-smile and brushes him off like lint.

Thing is, Mike is nothing if not persistent. He hasn’t gotten this far by giving up at the first sign of adversity. If Paul Briggs wants him to watch and learn, he’ll watch and learn. If Paul Briggs wants him to stand back, he’ll stand back. 

And if Paul Briggs wants him to surf, Mike will learn to fucking surf.

Mike has survived Quantico and weapons training and extreme physical exertion, but surfing is hard. Surfing is about trusting that the water will hold you up and not drown you, and Mike is not sure he’s ready to do that.

Graceland is about more than being a beach bum and figuring out Paul Briggs, though. Graceland is about those sleepy mornings where everyone moves slowly, Briggs on guard like a coiled cat while Johnny eats weird tropical fruit and Paige does her nails on the kitchen counter and Jakes bitches at people about his carefully marked food in the fridge and Charlie rolls her eyes. Graceland is those late-night beach bonfires, beers and goofing around, Johnny doing dramatic recitations of the day’s events while Briggs looks on, amused and fond. 

Graceland is a home for people who can’t be real anywhere else. Mike knows he’s there to do a job but that doesn’t mean he’s immune to the spirit of the place, the warmth. Mike doesn’t know if he’ll ever quite trust the ocean to hold him up, but he can imagine trusting his roommates, this newfound family.

It scares him, sometimes, how much he can imagine trusting them.

Charlie’s the easiest person in the house to get a read on. She’s no bullshit. Mike can tell the hard glint in her eye and the don’t fuck with me tilt to her chin is real, but there’s more to her than that. Charlie’s got a sweet side to her, a softness under the surface. She cares about people. 

They’ve got that in common. Neither of them sees this job as a game. Mike thinks, sometimes, watching Briggs, that Briggs is the kind of guy who does the things he does just to see how far he can go. Charlie’s no thrill junkie. She’s good at her job, and she does it because this is one way she knows how to protect people: eliminate the threat.

One night they’re lying on Mike’s bed, Charlie flipping through a trashy magazine while Mike reads over the file on Bello for the 500th time. He knows there’s got to be a way to get himself deeper into this case. He’s tired of being stuck on the periphery, begging for scraps, but he can’t quite see it. Can’t quite read the signs.

“You’re so serious, Mikey,” Charlie says. “Don’t you ever take a night off?”

Mike looks up at Charlie, who’s sprawled out across from him, her long legs bare except for her tiny pair of boxer shorts. 

He has a flash where he imagines those boxer shorts are his, that she slipped them on after they got naked and sweaty. It makes him suck in a breath.

“You okay?” she asks, tilting her head to one side. Her lips are so full. 

He blinks.

“Yeah,” he says, and his voice sounds rough.

She props herself up on her elbows, her forehead wrinkling with concern.

“Hey, no, nuh-uh,” she says. “Dish, dude. You look like you’re gonna collapse under the weight of whatever baggage you’re carrying.”

“It’s nothing,” he says. “You know. It’s the job.”

He can’t help but watch as Charlie sits up, her t-shirt riding up to reveal her toned stomach.

“Yeah, the thing is - the job’s the job, honey,” Charlie says, moving closer, closer, until she’s nearly pressed against his side. She lets her hand drift over his back. “You have to learn to let go a little. Exhale.”

“Exhale,” Mike repeats stupidly. She’s so close now, and she smells sweet, like peaches. He wants to press his lips to the skin between her collarbones and breath in.

“Exhale,” Charlie confirms. “Breathe, Mikey.”

And then she kisses him.

If this is Charlie’s plan to get him to breathe more, it’s an astounding success, because the first thing Mike does is suck in air, quick and sharp. Charlie deepens the kiss, pushing her hand into his hair and guiding him. He likes letting her steer. It means he can stop thinking for a moment, stop thinking and just feel.

What he feels is amazing. Incredible. Charlie licks at his bottom lip until he opens his mouth, swallowing her hitch of breath. She climbs into his lap and settles down, a welcome weight. His hands settle at her waist, careful not to clutch, but god, he wants to kiss her everywhere, lick and kiss her everywhere she’ll let him.

“This okay?” Charlie asks, breaking the kiss for a second, just long enough for Mike to chase her lips with his. She laughs. “Well. I guess there’s my answer.”

“You’re so fucking hot,” Mike whispers.

He slides his hand over her ass, pulling her flush against him.

“Oh, baby,” she murmurs, her eyes dancing with light. “You ain’t seen nothin’ yet.”

He locks his bedroom door and goes to his knees in front of the bed, sliding his hands up her legs and trailing kisses over the tender skin beneath her knee and her inner thighs. He licks at the skin just under the hem of her boxer shorts, his fingers playing along the waistband. 

She watches him, eyes wide and lips parted, then says, “I want your fingers, you tease, and then I want your mouth.”

Mike has always been good at following directions. He tugs her shorts down and off and flicks his tongue over the crease of her thigh. His fingers find her already wet, and when he pushes in two she moans and bucks her hips like she’s making him an offer. He traces her clit with his tongue, fucks her with his fingers and catalogs every shiver and hitch of breath for future reference. No use remembering details if he can’t remember details like these.

He makes her come twice before she drags him up onto the bed and pushes her hand into his pants. She jerks him off with firm, strong strokes until he comes with a gasp and a groan. It’s over too fast, but to be fair, she’s ridiculously gorgeous. He tells her this between kisses as he catches his breath.

“You’re not so bad yourself, Special Agent Warren,” she says. The wink is implied.

“So this is what you meant by letting go?” he asks.

She brushes his hair back from his sweaty forehead, and places a light kiss on his cheek.

“Well, it worked,” she says. “Didn’t it?”

~*~

The next morning at breakfast Charlie smirks at him over her bowl of cereal, then licks her thumb and uses it to turn the page of her magazine. Mike blushes to the roots of his hair, so much so that Jakes makes a joke about him not being to handle all this mad hot California sun. Mike watches Charlie stifle laughter and he hates her a little for being so much better at him at this, at playing the game. Charlie makes Mike feel like he’s in middle school all over again, that skinny kid who tripped over his words every time the pretty girls tried to talk to him.

Mike is a little afraid things might get weird between them, but they don’t. Charlie is still very much Charlie, sharp and cool and so incredibly beautiful it makes him breathless sometimes. They have beers by the campfire on the beach and laugh at Johnny’s dumb jokes and exchange looks behind Briggs’ back when he’s being especially mysterious and cryptic, which is to say all the time.

But every so often Charlie will brush her fingers over the back of Mike’s hand, or lock eyes with him across the room, and Mike will know. He’ll know to come to her room or wait in his, and when she slinks in wearing that same skimpy bathrobe she wore the day they met, he does his best to get her out of it as quickly as possible.

One of these times she’s straddling him, biting at his nipples while he tries not to thrust up into her too hard (he has been given instructions), when she murmurs, “Hey, Levi, you like Paige, right?”

“What?” Mike gasps out, hand clutching at her slim waist and holding her still. It feels wrong, somehow, to have this conversation while he’s fucking her. Even though he basically is – whatever. This is weird.

“You like Paige,” Charlie says. “You’re attracted to her.”

“Is this a trick question?” Mike asks.

Charlie smirks at him, clenching down around him, and he shudders.

“This is unfair,” Mike says, squeezing his eyes shut. “You can’t ask me if—“

“I’m not jealous, idiot,” Charlie says. “Paige is hot. I know I’m attracted to her.”

It takes Mike a moment, but he gets there. He opens his eyes. Charlie is looking down at him, her expression somewhere between amusement and exasperation with how big of a dumbass Mike is.

“You think Paige is hot?” Mike squeaks.

“I know I wouldn’t mind sharing you with her,” Charlie says. “You ever done that before? Had two girls at the same time?”

“Jesus Christ,” Mike breathes.

Charlie begins moving again, grinding down against him. She scratches her fingernails down his chest, leaving white trails in her wake, and leans in close, her breath hot against his ear.

“You could watch us, together,” Charlie says. “Then you could show her what you can do with your tongue while you fuck me.”

“Oh my God,” Mike groans, and comes.

Charlie is smiling when Mike regains his ability to focus.

“I take it you like that idea, cowboy,” Charlie says.

Mike flips them over, thrusting into her, hard. Charlie tips her head back against the pillow and moans.

“Let me show you how much,” Mike says.

~*~

The next day is Sauce Day and Mike spends the whole time Charlie’s telling her story about her family thinking about what she said and watching her mouth move.

He wonders, later, if that’s why he didn’t see it coming. Too distracted. Didn’t read the signs.

He’s pretty sure Bello isn’t the type to give signs, though. His advantage is always the element of surprise, the shock.

He can’t stop seeing it. The gunshot. The blood. This is one of the problems with remembering all the details. You can’t choose to forget.

 _It’s just sauce, Mike_ , Briggs says, but the way he looks at Mike tells a different story. He knows Briggs isn’t a guy who really does apologies, but that moment feels like one, like the closest he’ll ever get.

That night Mike does the dishes and cries, cries for the first time since he’s gotten here. Considering how much shit has gone down in the short time he’s been at Graceland, he’s a little bit proud of that.

Still, he’s embarrassed when Charlie finds him like that, a soggy mess fraying apart over the kitchen sink. She rubs his back as he cries and doesn’t ask questions. Then she takes him to bed and lies next to him, running her hands through his hair until he falls asleep.

When he wakes up, she’s gone.

~*~

Everything goes to hell for a little while after that.

When the torpedo thing goes down (and seriously, Mike did not sign on for goddamn submarines) Johnny manages to save his bacon on the one hand and ruin his fucking day on the other. 

It’s not Johnny’s fault, of course. It’s Briggs. It’s always Briggs. Every time Mike thinks he’s got him, he finds out Briggs is seven steps ahead. He hates this game they’re playing. He hates being manipulated, he hates feeling like he’s failing, he hates not being in on the joke.

In the end, though, they make the arrest, they confiscate the drugs, they get the big bust – that’s the goal, right? So what if Mike spent a panicked hour thinking he’d gotten somebody he cares about killed. Briggs has made it pretty clear it’s not about Mike and his feelings.

 _You’re going to learn how to defend yourself_ , he hears his grandfather say, and wonders if he ever felt this way, being an FBI photographer: like a helpless witness, in way over his head.

It feels good to punch Briggs. Better than it should. He wants to tell him, right then – _I’m watching you, they put me here to watch you_. The words burn in the back of his throat when he swallows. The look on Briggs’ face is enough to make Mike take a step back.

He may be there to watch Briggs, but he knows Briggs is watching him too.

He follows Briggs, proud of himself for managing a damn good tail, and feels the ground slip out from under him when walks in the door and finds himself in the last kind of meeting he ever expected Briggs to attend. 

Always one step ahead. Mike feels like he’s falling.

Mike suddenly has more information than he had before about everything – about Briggs and his druggie past, about Charlie and her druggie present, about Johnny and his war wounds. Even about Bello, a man who gets more complicated and confusing the more of his story and motivations Mike manages to unravel. 

Information used to be Mike’s drug, his one guaranteed high, but now all he wants is to know less. 

All he wants is to let go.

~*~

After Charlie tells them all about shooting heroin, Mike hugs her close and whispers, “Tonight?” too low for anyone else to hear.

He wants to help her forget. He thinks they can be each other’s medicine.

She squeezes him back, and he knows it’s on.

He probably shouldn’t be surprised when, a few hours later, he finds Charlie and Paige in his bedroom in their underwear. He has to admit, though, that after the week he’s had, it does give him some palpitations.

“Oh my God, your face,” Paige exclaims. 

Charlie is too busy laughing to make fun of him, it seems.

“Hi Paige,” Mike says, struggling to keep his voice level even as his heartbeat quickens. “Did you get lost on your way to your room?”

Paige shakes her head, a smile playing over her lips.

“I did not,” she says. “From what I’ve heard, this is where all the action is.”

She crooks a finger in his direction, and Mike does his best not to trip over his own feet. He flushes when Paige tugs him forward by the waistband of his pants, her fingers tickling his stomach.

“You’re so right,” Paige says to Charlie. “He is totally fuckable in that buttoned up frat boy sort of way.”

“Hey,” Mike says, at the same time as Charlie drawls, “Not so buttoned up. Mike here is kind of a freak.”

“Oh, really? What kind of freak are you?” Paige asks, flicking open the top buttons of his shirt. She looks up at him through her eyelashes. “You like being in control? Or – no, wait, I know. You like people to boss you around, don’t you? Tell you what to do?”

“Yeah, Mikey,” Mike hears a familiar voice behind him. “Tell her. What kind of freak are you, man?”

Mike twists around so fast he nearly loses his balance, but Paige has still got her hands on his shirt, and she doesn’t seem inclined to let go.

Johnny is standing in the doorway, leaning against it. He’s the same Johnny, casual and comfortable, but Mike can see the question that flickers in his eyes, the quick moment of doubt.

“Shoulda locked the door,” Mike murmurs.

“I don’t know, bro,” Johnny says. “Here at Graceland we like to share.”

“You want to watch us, we get to watch you,” Paige says, firmly. “That’s the deal.”

Johnny raises an eyebrow at Mike. Mike’s stomach flips. It’s not that Johnny is unattractive. He can appreciate that Johnny’s a good-looking dude.

It’s just that Mike’s never done this before, and he’s definitely never done it with an audience.

“Aw, Mikey is nervous,” Charlie says, stroking his back with one gentle hand. “Don’t be nervous, baby.”

“I don’t know,” Johnny says. “This is getting weird. I mean – dude, I like you, you’re awesome, whatever. But if this is not your thing…”

If Mike’s learned anything from being an undercover who’s undercover among undercovers, it’s that you can make almost anything your thing under the right circumstances. It’s not like this will be the first new thing Mike’s tried at Graceland. _In for a penny, in for a pound_ , his grandfather used to say, though Mike somehow doubts he meant for that saying to apply to situations like this one.

He shoves Johnny into the door hard enough to make it rattle on its hinges, hard enough to make Johnny yelp out, “A simple ‘no’ would suffice, man, you don’t have to get violent and shit—“

Mike kisses him. It’s not a sweet kiss, it’s rough and angry and I thought you were dead, man. He presses closer and kisses harder and he’s so relieved when Johnny kisses back, grasps Mike’s arms like an anchor and bites at his lips and makes Mike’s pulse race.

Kissing Johnny is nothing like kissing Charlie, but that’s just fine. Mike’s not looking for a Charlie substitute, especially when it seems pretty damn likely that he can have them both.

“Well, damn,” he hears Charlie say.

“That’s hot as fuck,” Paige says. She sounds a little breathless.

They separate for air, Mike’s hands settling at Johnny’s waist. Johnny’s flushed red and panting, his shoulders rising and falling with each breath. His jeans hang just low enough that Mike’s thumbs press into his hipbones, and his skin is warm under Mike’s fingers.

“Oh, shit,” Johnny says, his eyes locked on what’s happening over Mike’s shoulder, and Mike turns to look. Paige and Charlie are kissing, deep tongue kisses, as Charlie’s fingers drift into Paige’s panties. Paige looks at Charlie through heavy-lidded eyes, her breath speeding up as Charlie’s fingers find their destination.

“So you and Mike,” Paige says, her voice strained. “Tell me about that.”

Charlie licks Paige’s neck, her fingers working faster. Paige shivers, her hands clenching on Charlie’s shoulders.

“Mike’s good with his mouth,” Charlie says. “The first time we hooked up he made me come twice and he would’ve kept going if I’d let him.”

Johnny is looking at Mike like he wants to give him a high-five. Mike smothers a smile.

“If you boys are gonna watch you’re gonna have to keep up your end of the bargain,” Paige says, her words slurred.

Mike glances at Johnny, who’s watching him carefully. Johnny raises an eyebrow as if to say, Dude, there’s gotta be a better way to do this.

“We don’t want to watch, though,” Mike says. “We want to play.”

Charlie’s mouth turns up at the corners, and that’s as much of an invitation as Mike needs.

He climbs onto the bed behind Charlie, sliding his hands up under her tank top and dragging his thumbs over her nipples. He knows Charlie likes this, likes the feeling of the rough pads of his fingers. She leans back against him, shuddering.

“Hey, lady,” Paige says, watching them with interest but also impatience. “Don’t forget what you’re doing just ‘cause Levi’s breaking all the rules.”

“I can help,” Johnny volunteers, his eyes dark, and Paige regards him with raised eyebrows.

“What do you propose, JT?” Paige asks.

“I propose you let me make you come,” Johnny says. “You can keep kissing Chuck if you want. I’m sure Mike doesn’t mind.”

“I don’t mind in the slightest,” Mike says graciously.

“I could be okay with this plan,” Paige says, “but I’m not sure how we can make it work. Like – logistically.”

Mike is never going to be able to hear them talk mission parameters again without thinking about this.

“A suggestion, strategy-wise,” Johnny says. “You lay down. Get real comfortable. Charlie lays next to you so she’s still close enough for you to do whatever, and Mike – well, I’m sure Mike will figure something out. He’s an innovative dude.”

This is how they end up in a messy pile on the bed, Johnny busy between Paige’s legs while Charlie licks at Paige’s mouth and Mike spoons Charlie from behind. Mike’s pressing his cock against Charlie’s ass, his fingers circling her clit, and every time Paige moans or shivers it seems to reverberate through Charlie, leaving Mike trembling in the delicious wake.

“God, Johnny,” Paige gasps out. “Fuck. Right there. Right there—“

“You can fuck me,” Charlie says, and Mike goes very still. 

He takes in a deep breath and desperately reminds his body that this would be a bad time to come. Everything is so real in this moment. Up until now Mike was fairly certain he was going to wake up soon and this would all have been some elaborate dream, that he’d been assigned to the desk job in D.C. he asked for and was definitely not having an orgy in an oceanfront house with three of the most attractive people he’s ever met.

“Why did you stop?” she demands.

“Are you talking to me?” Mike asks.

“Of course I’m talking to you,” Charlie says.

“I’m sorry, there are a lot of people in this room,” Mike says. “Forgive me for being confused.”

“Fine, please fuck me, Mikey,” Charlie says. “Fuck me so hard Paige will be able to feel it too.”

“I call next,” Paige exhales as Mike thrusts into Charlie. 

Johnny pulls her into his lap, and Mike loses himself in the sound of moans and skin sliding against skin.

~*~

Jakes watches Paige slap Mike on the ass while he’s making eggs, Johnny squeeze his shoulder on his way out the door to catch some early waves, and Charlie press a kiss to his cheek, all in quick succession.

“Well,” he says, eyeing Mike over his cup of coffee. “Somebody’s popular.”

Mike’s never entirely sure how to read Jakes. He’s clearly not interested in having heart-to-hearts, and Mike can’t blame him for wanting to keep his distance, to keep something for himself. Mike can already see how this job can take everything from you if you’re not careful, strip you down until you’re just a shell.

“I guess so,” Mike says with a shrug.

Jakes looks at him like he wants to say something else, but what comes out is, “I hope you know what you’re doing, Levi.”

He wonders what Jakes knows. He wonders what Briggs knows even more.

He thinks about Paige and her flirty touches, about Johnny wrestling him to the ground playing football, about the way Charlie falls so easily into his lap when they’re sitting round the campfire, her body settling into the cradle of his arms. 

He knows Briggs is always watching. He knows because sometimes when he watches Briggs he finds Briggs staring back.

 _No love in Graceland_ , Mike thinks.

He wonders if this is just another one of Paul Briggs’ rules that’s made to be broken.

~*~

Mike thinks it might be a one-time thing.

It’s not a one-time thing.

There’s that time Paige rubs sunscreen all over his back and then slides her hand, still slick, into his bathing suit and jerks him off, her breasts soft against his back, whispering filthy things in his ear. He’s pressed against the bathroom sink, panting, and all he can do is watch in the mirror the way the flush spreads down his neck and over his chest, the way his mouth falls open when she flicks her tongue over the curve of his neck and whispers, _You really want it, don’t you, you want this._

And then there is that time when Johnny jimmies the lock on the outdoor shower and sidles in with a broad smile in his wetsuit, all _oh I gotta do this man, I have sand in scary-ass places_. Mike freezes with his bar of soap and nothing else, naked and wet and wide-eyed. Johnny reaches around him like he’s going for Charlie’s fancy shower gel and sinks to his knees, takes Mike’s cock in his mouth before Mike has a chance to freak out. Mike curses and cups the back of Johnny’s head and tries not to come too quickly, but it’s a lost cause. Johnny’s smug about it for days.

And then there’s Charlie, always Charlie, who writes _DTF???_ in big letters in the sand, who kisses him on the cheek every time she sees him, who looks at him sometimes in that way that makes Mike want to give her anything, anything he can and even things he can’t, anything she wants.

And every morning Mike runs on the beach, and every morning the beach is different, the sand changing with the tides, the imprints of people’s feet, the wind. Every morning the beach is different and Mike is still undercover, still trying to keep up, still trying to read the room, still running, running, running.

~*~

After one morning run Mike’s sprawled on the beach, watching the waves curl in. He still has his moments where this place doesn’t seem real. It’s like he’s living on a postcard.

Johnny collapses next to him, half in and half out of his wetsuit, and sprays him with little droplets of water.

“Dude,” Mike says, and Johnny shakes his head like a wet dog, water going everywhere.

“Sorry, man,” Johnny says. “Wouldn’t want to harm your delicate East Coast skin.”

Mike gives him a hard look, which just makes Johnny crack up.

“How did you even end up in the FBI, man?” Johnny asks. “You’re not like any undercover I’ve ever met.”

Mike swallows, but he doesn’t break.

“I guess I thought it’d help me get laid,” Mike says, and Johnny laughs so hard he dissolves into a coughing fit.

“Don’t die, man,” Mike says, smacking him on the back and then letting his hand linger, feeling Johnny’s cool, surf-wet skin beneath his fingers. “First rule of undercovers.”

Johnny smirks.

“I don’t know what they taught you, bro,” Johnny says, “But the first rule is definitely don’t get caught.”

~*~

The night Mike watches Bello torture a hitman he can’t help but think of his grandfather. A guns win every argument. Mike believes in going all the way, but not like this. Mike’s grandfather didn’t have to teach him how to use a gun when he was twelve. He could have taught him how to throw a better punch instead.

It’s the sounds that stick with him, after, as he lies in bed and tries to breathe. He knows he’s probably not going to sleep, but he has to breathe. He has to breathe or he’s going to die. All he can hear is the high whine bullets make when they fly by close, those girls’ screams, the sound the man made when that blade sliced through his wrist. 

All he can hear is Briggs saying, _You’ve got two choices._

He had more than two choices. They had more than two choices. They just weren’t the choices Briggs wanted Mike to make.

Somehow he drifts off, but jerks awake when he feels someone else in the room. His hand goes for the gun on his nightstand, but before he can get a grip on it he hears Charlie say, “At ease, Special Agent. It’s just me.”

She climbs into bed and her body is a welcome warmth, soft against his. She runs her hand through his hair and says, “I know you’re not okay.”

Mike doesn’t say anything, but he finds her hand beneath the covers and squeezes it tight.

“I would be worried if you were okay,” Charlie says. “That shit was brutal, Mikey. It was fucked up.”

“I know,” Mike says. “But it’s the job. Right?”

“Baby, that’s not the job,” Charlie says. “It never should’ve gone down that way.”

It’s like she’s echoing his own thoughts, but it makes him feel so much better to hear her say it. It makes him feel less crazy. He slides an arm around her waist and pulls her close, pressing his lips into her neck.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers.

“For what?” Charlie asks.

“For not being fast enough,” he says. “For not saving those girls.”

“Oh, hon, don’t even,” she whispers back, her words a puff of air against his cheek. “Sometimes we just don’t see what’s happening until it’s too late. How the fuck do you think I ended up having to shoot heroin to keep our cover? I could beat myself up forever for that, but what’s the point? You gotta move on.”

Moving on sounds exhausting right now. Mike doesn’t even want to move from this bed.

They lie together in silence, feeling each other breathe.

“You ever notice how when Briggs makes high-risk decisions for the mission, they never seem to put him at that high of a risk?” Mike says.

There’s a long pause, and Mike’s afraid he’s pissed her off. He knows Charlie and Briggs are tight, that they’ve gotten each other through a lot of shit. Sometimes he thinks Charlie knows Briggs better than anybody.

“It didn’t used to be like that,” Charlie says, finally. “But yeah, lately...I’ve noticed.”

Charlie places a lingering kiss on Mike’s collarbone. Her eyes glitter in the near darkness.

“Nothing stays a secret in Graceland, Mikey,” Charlie says. “Just remember that.”

~*~

The next morning Briggs walks into the kitchen while Mike is eating cereal, his eyes immediately settling on him. He doesn’t say anything, instead turning away to pour himself a cup of coffee. Mike checks his text messages on his phone and pretends like Briggs’ presence in the room doesn’t make his heart stutter.

Briggs is not an easy guy to ignore.

“So,” Briggs says, “you and Charlie.”

Mike freezes, his coffee cup halfway to his lips. He sets it down on the countertop and turns toward Briggs.

“What?” he says.

“Ran into her this morning coming out of your bedroom,” Briggs says. “I’m guessing you two weren’t exchanging knitting tips.”

He and Charlie didn’t do anything more than sleep together last night, but Briggs isn’t wrong. Mike’s not exactly sure what is going on between him and Charlie, but it’s definitely more than platonic.

“I don’t think I want to talk to you about this,” Mike says.

He realizes, in that moment, that he really doesn’t want to talk to Briggs about this, and he doesn’t think he has to. For the first time, he doesn’t actually give a shit about what Briggs thinks about whatever’s going on with Mike and Charlie, or Johnny and Paige, or even Bello, should it one day come to that.

 _You keep your secrets, Agent Briggs_ , he thinks, _and I’ll keep mine_.

“Hey, man, what you do is your business,” Briggs says, putting up his hands. “Chuck can take care of herself. You just don’t want it to affect the work, right? I was just making an observation. It’s what we do.”

But Mike can read the signs better now. He knows that Briggs isn’t making an observation. It’s a threat.

~*~

Mike decides to stop following orders.

He knows withholding the drugs from Bello is a risk, but if he’s going to take risks on the job, from now on he wants them to be on his own terms.

They stage another meet between Bello and Odin Rossi. Mike knows the second Briggs splits that something’s fucked, and it’s confirmed when Charlie loses Bello in the changing room of the store only to see him emerge somewhere else. Holes in the wall and diversionary tactics, Jesus Christ. It’s like playing the least fun game of hide and seek ever.

And then it gets so much worse.

Mike doesn’t like to admit it, but he’s imagined quite a few times what it would be like to get down and dirty with Briggs. He’s wondered if he could take him, if his training and quick reflexes would make him strong enough to fight Briggs off. He’s scanned Briggs’ toned body for weaknesses, tried to figure out how he could compensate for Briggs being bigger and stronger.

When Mike gets jumped, he doesn’t see who does it. He doesn’t see who does it, but he can feel that the man who did was built a lot like Paul Briggs. It could be a coincidence. It could be a lot of things. 

He’s never been choked before – that’s a first. It’s not an experience he’d like to repeat. 

He comes to moments later with Briggs standing over him. Mike plays along, because what is he going to do? If Briggs has taught him anything, it’s the importance of getting all the information you need before you try to take somebody down.

When they’re helping Mike back to the van, Charlie takes Mike’s hand and squeezes it. She leans in and whispers, “We need to talk.”

Mike knows she doesn’t mean about Bello.

~*~

That night Mike’s resting in bed when Charlie comes in, closing the door behind her. She climbs onto the bed and into his arms, trailing her fingers over his neck. It takes Mike a second to realize she’s checking for bruises.

“How bad did he hurt you?” Charlie asks.

“I’m okay,” Mike says. “Honestly I think I hurt him more.”

Charlie’s hands are warm, her touch gentle.

“You sure?” Charlie asks.

Mike nods.

Charlie’s eyes are wide and a tiny bit wet. Her shoulders drop, and she brings her hands up to rub at her eyes.

“I can’t fucking believe this,” she says.

Mike wraps his hands around her wrists, pulling them away from her face.

“What do you know?” he asks.

“The apartment, where Briggs kept me when I was detoxing off the heroin?” Charlie says. “Me and Johnny went there the other day, after the shit went down with Caza’s hitmen. I just couldn’t shake the feeling that something was up. But by the time we got in, there wasn’t anybody there. Just some leftovers on the table.”

“So you don’t know whether Briggs is involved or not,” Mike says.

“I just have this feeling, you know? Like in my gut?” Charlie says. “It doesn’t sit right. The pieces don’t fit.”

Mike understands. He’s been shifting pieces around since he got here, and all he’s got to show for it are more uncertainties, more questions, more lies.

“I don’t want to believe it,” Charlie says. “I don’t know what I want.”

“Me neither,” Mike whispers.

Charlie pushes a hand into Mike’s hair, letting her fingers trail over the back of his ear and down his neck. Mike closes his eyes.

“Sometimes you just know,” Charlie murmurs, and Mike breathes out.

~*~

When Mike wakes up in the morning, Paige is pressed to his back, Charlie is curled under his chin, and Johnny has stolen one of his pillows.

“Um,” Mike says.

“Shhhh,” Paige says, sliding one hand around his waist. Her fingernails scratch lightly over his stomach, and Mike hitches in a breath.

“Guys?” Mike says.

Charlie shifts in her sleep, her lips grazing his arm. Johnny makes some unintelligible noise behind her.

“Relax, Levi,” Paige whispers against his neck.

“But I have to—“

“Dude, you got choked out yesterday,” Johnny mumbles. “Get some rest.”

“We’ll work you out, don’t worry,” Paige says, her hand gripping his hip.

“We’re here to enforce sleep,” Johnny says. “Just call us the Federal Bureau of Relaxation.”

Mike feels the corners of his mouth push up. Charlie fists the fabric of his shirt, pulling him in closer. He can feel Paige’s hand on his stomach with every breath, Charlie’s fingers a tether.

He’s got something to hold on to now.

Whatever he’ll be facing, he’s not facing it alone.


End file.
